Stefen's Story Part II
by Gildaurel
Summary: A continuation of Stefen's life after Vanyel's death- he's old and a bit sentimental now . Thanks for reading Part I!
1. Chapter 1

Stefen shut the door to the Chronicler's office quietly and attempted to stop his hands from shaking. The new Chronicler was a thin, intense woman with a penchant for furrowing out uncomfortable, erstwhile-hidden information. Worried that Stefen would die—_blunt, but true_, he thought with a certain grim humor—she'd asked him to come in to record, in detail, as much of the famous Herald-Mage Vanyel's life as possible.

_I don't know how she convinced me to do it. She was just so earnest, and I thought it _should_ be on the record. Who knows who'll need to know about his power— or his decisions— later?_ He leaned against the wall for a moment. _But I had no idea she would ask me about that. She certainly did her homework. Well, I knew that already, since she knew me on sight… barely anyone does anymore, save Jisa and Treven. Their children. Medren. _

His thoughts stopped their mad swirl and turned back to the original thought._ I just didn't expect her to ask me about that._

She'd looked up from her various notes with a slight frown on her face. "Why did it take you so long to get to Crookback Pass? Council notes say Vanyel Ashkevron took his leave of the final Guardpost _three months_ before you made it to Crookback Pass. That trip is only a fortnight, at most. What happened?"

He'd simply stared at her. Stared, and fallen blankly into memories that drowned out all rational thought. _Fire, everywhere, and dead bodies piled like flotsam. Van, bruised and bloodied, mage light glowing red in his eyes. Then, the dawning of understanding and that broken, utterly broken, look in his eyes. The horse tack, twisted on the floor. His limping walk, the endless nightmares._

"Bard Stefen?" Her voice sounded concerned. "Are you all right?"

He knew she was speaking, but he was caught in another time. _Van's voice—I don't know if I'll ever want to again, Stef—the cold nights, the hurt, the image Yfandes had shown him. His tears—_real, in this time now, rolling soft and damp down his cheeks.

Looking abashed, she'd told him they'd continue later. He took the proffered lifeline and left with barely a nod. The memories clung, though, tenacious little things, driving into his brain like daggers.

_Jisa. I need to find Jisa._ Blindly, he followed the corridor toward the best—and often, only—support he'd known these past forty years. Turning left, then, right, then left again until his hand hung over the door, about to knock.

Concern etched on her face, Jisa opened it, letting him into the Royal Suite. "Come in, Stef, I Felt your pain across the Palace!" She gathered his slight frame into her arms. "I knew you were with the Chronicler, but—"

He cut her off gently. "She asked me about Van's last trip—why it took so long—" then his voice broke, memories flooding afresh, and he could hardly feel her arms lowering him to the couch, her warm presence beside him, her hand stroking his hair.

"Shh, love, I'm here," she murmured, drawing his head to her breast and his mind back to the present.

"I've never told anyone about it, Jisa, about what happened out there. Why it took so long to get to Crookback. Why we never sent word after the Guard post. I've tried never to think of it; I've blocked it for years, decades now."

"You don't have to talk about it now, either." Jisa continued to caress his hair. "I'll tell her you were delayed by storms, or you fought off bandits, or anything, really."

Stefen finally began to relax under her touch. "I don't know—I'm losing it, here, dearheart. Never having spoken of it feels like I'm damming it up inside me, leaving it to flood out at the slightest question from a stranger. I can't keep it like this. I know I'll have nightmares tonight, like I've had for years and years."

"Out with it, then, if you think it's best. I can handle it. I'm listening… and I won't lie, I've wondered what happened enough times myself."

He took a deep breath to steady himself, then began. "We were arguing—about Van's coldness, his need for revenge, the way he kept shutting me and everyone out. Gods, he could barely unbend enough to discuss the _weather_ with me. You know how he gets."

"Got," Jisa murmured. "Yes, I remember. He could have shut out a MindHealer if he wanted."

"Well, he'd gotten even colder at the end of the argument, just about told me I could go home for all he cared, when all of a sudden 'Fandes screamed in alarm. That was it—no other warning—and bandits charged out of the woods. Hells, Jisa, he chopped one of them in half with his sword right off the bat! I ran, I just ran, I ran as fast and far as I could." His voice had gained that Bardic cadence as he spoke, rhythmic and hypnotic, dropping to a bare whisper at the end. Pulling back from Jisa's stroking hand, he spread empty hands. "I'm not a warrior. I'd never even seen combat—especially not like that, bloody and brutal, twenty against one. I was scared, so scared."

"Of course you ran, Stef. It was the best thing you could have done. I warrant Van even placed that thought in your mind—first thing he did as soon as he saw the bandits."

With a half-smile, Stefen closed his eyes. "He did. But I would've run anyways."

"So that's what getting to you, dearest? That you ran?" She smiled at him. "That's what Van was there for, that was his job: fighting. Defending you, defending Valdemar. I'm sure he never thought twice of it."

He shook his head, slowly. "No, Jisa, I wish that was it. They were Dark servants, the lot of them. They had some powder that stunned Van, knocked him flat out. When I came to, I ran to the battle site and found Yfandes lying like a dead thing on the ground, Vanyel gone. I went into shock, blacked out screaming, and woke hours later to the last, desperate hope that Yfandes was bleeding because she was alive. I found a dart in her flank. I pulled it out, she regained consciousness and Mindspoke me. We searched for Van together, following the blood trail, and we found him—easily enough."

He paused and his voice dropped again to a whisper, a disbelieving whisper, as if he still couldn't reconcile what he saw so many years later. "He had imploded their shack. The bandits were burning like logs on a fire, Jisa. Piled on top of each other in bloody, stinking messes. When I saw Van, he was forcing a man to disembowel himself."

Capable and experienced as Jisa was, she'd never been in a brutal combat situation. Never seen her friends mad with rage or hacked by enemies. Her face had gone utterly white. "But—that's murder, that's abuse of the Gift, that's—"

"Worse than murder," Stefen cut her off. Sitting up straight, he took her hands in his. "Don't think less of your father, love. He was talking to the man as he disemboweled him—something about a little white horse. I didn't think anything of it, then, at that moment; I just wanted to get Van somewhere safe and _stop _him."

He paused. "Then, when we did get Van to stop, Yfandes Spoke me. _The damage is worse than we thought_, she said. Gods." Shaking his head, he repeated, "Gods." Silence, then: a hushed, lumbering thing.

"If you want to stop, I understand," Jisa finally said, face still ashen. Her hands trembled slightly in his. "But I think you need to tell your story. His story. And—I still want to know."

He nodded, a lump in his throat, and forced out the next words. "Yfandes showed me—images—they raped him, Jisa. All of them, or most anyways. Brutally, savagely, tearing him apart. A lesser man would have died; Van essentially did. They tied him in 'Fandes tack… when I found it, twisted, I lost the contents of my stomach."

Jisa had fallen back on the couch and now she stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. Her hands trembled worse, and when she spoke, her voice was barely audible. "How could they do that to _Van_, to _Father_—he was so noble, so private—I can't—" tears were streaming down her face, now, and she shook violently. "How could anyone _do_ that to him? He was the gentlest, kindest, _best_ person that ever lived—"

Now Stefen held her. "I'm sorry, love," he murmured into her hair. "I'm sorry to burden you with this."

Slipping out of his arms, she shook her head. "Stop. I wanted to hear it. But—tell me, and tell me true, did he spend the last moments of his life in post-rape trauma? Was he… broken? " She'd seen it, seen Heralds' lives destroyed by it.

"No," Stefen replied, face softening. "Not at the end. But for a while, yes, he was broken, completely broken. The way he was… so honorable, his moral code so strict when it came to his person, his body… only made it worse, I think. Everything about him felt shaken. We—'Fandes and I—carried him out of there, no idea where we were going. A _kyree_ found us."

"A _kyree_?" Jisa asked, curiosity warring with sadness and anger in her face.

"A giant talking wolf," Stefen replied, a hint of humor returning to his voice. "Seriously. Sort of like Companions, but no Heralds. They took us to their caves and we spent two months there, at least."

"Did he recover?" she questioned in a pained voice.

"Yes. Slowly. But I've never felt so helpless in my life. I would listen to him scream all night until his throat was raw. Or some nights he would shake all over, for hours. He couldn't bear to have anyone touch him for weeks." He paused. "I thought I might go mad."

"I don't blame you," she said, her grip tight on his hands. "I wonder, sometimes, why the Gods saw fit to be so cruel to Father… if anyone didn't deserve such a fate, not that anyone does, but Father." She shook her head once, eyes growing damp again, and repeated: "Father."

He freed one hand to lay it on her cheek. "I feel the same. I wouldn't have told you, but I thought I might lose my mind again. I was walking the brink just now. And there's precious few I trust to speak to about Van… it's like they're greedy for information, any information, about the legend."

She sighed heavily. "I know, Stef. I won't talk to anyone about him either, much, anymore, save the Chronicler or the occasional earnest Bard. And I'm glad you told me, in a strange way. It's an awful, horrific thing, but to know that he managed to get through that—to survive that, and _still_ go on to save Valdemar—is magnificent."

"I know. He was the most magnificently noble man I've ever met." He smiled wryly and tapped his chest. "Made him sort of irreplaceable in here."

Jisa gave him a slight smile. "That, and the whole lifebond thing."  
>"Yes," he said, closing his eyes for a moment. "That too."<p>

The ensuing silence threatened to drown them in melancholy. Jisa broke it, a twinkle returning to her eye. "Well, I know something that'll cheer you up."

"Oh?" he raised his eyebrows.

"We're getting very, very old," she said with a cheeky smile.

He moaned. "Macabre humor! Just because I'm closer to joining Van doesn't mean I enjoy every ache in my aged, abused body."

"How about looking in a mirror to find out you've got a thousand wrinkles when you never even saw the first one come?" Jisa replied dryly.

He chuckled. "I remember that day."

Jisa laughed with him. "I swear, it happened to us at the same time. You were walking down the hallway, that gloomy expression on your face."

"You asked me 'what's wrong,' " Stefen continued, smiling. "I'm old! I replied. And you burst out laughing, took my hand and said, 'We _all_ are, you idiot Bard!'"

Jisa shook her head. "Oh, Stef, it could be so much worse. We look pretty good, you know. This is uncharitable and unHeraldic of me, but have you _seen_ that group of ladies who used to buzz around Van at court, back in the day?"

Stefen burst out in unchecked laughter. "Gods, Jisa, that is Unheraldic of you!" He paused. "The ones who were _far_ younger than him—well, my age— and had that bet going about who could bed him?"

"The very same," she replied, smiling. "I knew you would know about them; they were in your classes too. I had a few in History back in the day—you know, Father—Randale, not Van—always had me take ordinary classes with Heralds and Blues. I used to listen to them rave about his alabaster skin."

Stefen rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, I had Lady Jacqueline in Religions, a year before I met Van. _She_ thought being _shaych_ was a perversion on the natural order of things. The one time I shut her up about how she was going to be the one to finally crack Van's shell— by saying he would more likely bed me than her—she set her older brother on me."

"Well," Jisa said, "She's certainly looking quite the harridan these days. I think she uses cleaning chemicals to color her hair, and now it's all started to fall out."

Stefen looked at her and burst into laughter again. After a moment, she joined him, until they both sat gasping, catching their breath.

"Idle gossip from the Queen?" Stefen smiled broadly. "I couldn't have asked for a better distraction."

"Good," Jisa said, wiping her eyes and recovering her aplomb. "Because we're needed—right about now—for that meeting about the new Heraldic Collegium we've been plotting."

Stefen checked the wall clock and swore. "Shall we go as fast as our aching bones can take us?"


	2. Chapter 2

Stefen had taken over for Hedron as Head of Bardic ten years ago, allegedly on a temporary basis, but no one had seen fit to displace him and the status stuck. He often regretted his decision. _Especially in moments like these_, he thought sourly, as the head of the Anti-Collegium Coalition (ACC) concluded his long-winded speech. The coalition had developed shortly after Treven and Jisa suggested changing the way Heraldic training operated; it was comprised mainly of older mentor Heralds and a few Blues who enjoyed the way classes were currently mixed. They felt exposing their children to Heralds provided a stabilizing influence, and that if the Blues were in classes of their own, they would encourage each other in debauchery. The Heralds felt that the same would occur if Heraldic trainees were left without mentors, and wondered how Heralds would get gift-specific training without mentors.

_But most of all, they're afraid of change. As if Herald trainees will run around lighting fire to the Palace if we let them bunk together. _His lips twitched. An image came unwonted into his mind of Vanyel at sixteen. His face was younger, less thin and sculpted, and the faint frown line was gone. His hair was pure blue-black and he was slighter, with less of the hard muscle Stefen remembered. _One hand held a History book and the other cupped his chin. He was bent over his reading, but he looked up when he saw who was coming toward him and smiled a sweet, brilliant smile. He was so attractive, poised like that—_Gods, I love him_- Stefen remembered thinking. Vanyel brushed his lovely, thick hair out of his eyes. "'Lendel?" he said, hesitantly, and the spell broke._

Stefen shuddered violently, hand to his forehead. A new Herald was speaking, everyone turned in his direction, and only Jisa had noticed his lapse. She stared at him anxiously, worrying her lower lip. He shook his head once, mouthed, "I'm okay." She nodded in return.

This wasn't the first time he'd had such a lapse. _Is my mind truly going? _He thought with a hint of humor, a hint of fear. _First the Van flashback with the Chronicler, now this. The memory isn't even mine! Or is it? Is it because we were lifebonded? Can I remember things about him I didn't even see? That was Van, I _know_ it. _This was the strongest memory yet. The clearest image. He shook his head again, attempting to clear his thoughts, just as the Herald speaking concluded.

"…Bardic Collegium," he finished, with a pointed look at Stefen. All eyes turned toward him.

He coughed politely to buy himself a bit of time and shot Jisa a slightly desperate look. Hiding a smile, she Spoke him—not for the first time—

:He's against. Thinks Bardic's poorly run, the students undisciplined. He's a great mentor, so he thinks it's the only way things can be done.:

"Herald…"

:Vance.:

"…Vance. I hear your concerns and empathize with them. Astera knows I sort out enough scrapes with the Bardic trainees, and perhaps I could run the Collegium with a stricter hand."

Scattered chuckling and nods. Stefen drew himself to his full height and let his face grow sterner. "But then they might not gain the experience working together and laughing together that they so badly need. Bardic students compose together, using their various gifts to compose songs with harmonizing instruments and vocals. Some are great poets and some are stronger musicians. They learn so much about cooperating through living and learning together."

"Furthermore, you need not worry about half the antics I do. Heraldic trainees are not, and never have been analogous to Bardic ones. Certainly, we have a sense of ethics ingrained in us by the time we graduate. But we aren't born with it, they way Heralds are, and we don't have a beautiful, white, horse-shaped conscience sharing our minds. If that isn't enough to ease your doubts, the Companions have already informed the Queen through Taver that they will have an alarm network in place for the Trainees. I don't think any trainees will readily alienate their closest friends, the other half of their hearts, do you?"

"Now, to address the second, more complicated issue: whether the classroom system is better than the mentor system." He took a deep breath. "Friends, I can recall many a conversation with the late Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron on this very issue. He was strongly for a changed model for dual reasons: one, the occasional lack of appropriate Gift-mentors or available Heralds, and two, the often hierarchical nature of mentor assignments. He felt that Heraldic trainees self-defined their internal ranks based on Gifts and mentors, rather than operating on the class-less system Baron Valdemar and our Companions intended. I happen to adamantly agree with both these arguments. For all of us who have been to the Karsite border—" a number of familiar eyes locked on him—"how many of you found yourselves working with Heralds who had the _exact same_ gifts as you?"

Assembled Heralds on both sides nodded. "So what's the sense of Mentoring students with the same gifts together, then having them join with different Heralds _only _in a high-pressure combat situation?"

"Again, Herald Vance, I understand your position. But there are unmistakable advantages to mine." He sat down, slowly, to widespread applause.

:Well done, dearheart.: Jisa's Mindvoice glowed with pride.

He winked at her, then Treven. The meeting adjourned with a general consensus for the Collegium, and plans to meet again in one month's time for a vote on funding.

As the Heralds and council members broke apart, Herald Vance shot him a venomous look and intercepted him at the door. His tall, broad-shouldered form dwarfed Stefen and he leaned down to address the Bard. "Don't think I didn't see what you did in there."

"Oh?" Stefen said mildly. "And what's that?"

"Trading on Herald Vanyel's name—on your _relationship_." The man practically spat the last word.

Stefen forced his hands to relax and reminded himself that the other man was, after all, a Herald. A soft voice spoke from behind him before he could respond. "I think the heat must be getting to you, Herald Vance," Jisa spoke. She stood taller than Stefen, her silver hair elegantly braided and glinting in the setting sun. "Otherwise I can't imagine why you would accost Bard Stefen for the simple act of out-reasoning you."

She paused and her eyes narrowed. "And I'll ask you never, ever, to dare to speak Herald Vanyel's name again until you can cleanse your mind of every single hidebound prejudice you still hold in that slightly defective brain of yours." He loved her, then, as much as he ever had. "Some of us knew him. Stefen knew him best. They were_ lifebonded_, Herald. Lifebonded. Take care to remember he lost half of himself."

Vance had gone red, then white as she spoke, and he hastily made his excuses. Jisa was apparently satisfied with what she Sensed of his response, for she let him go with no further redress.

Turning to face her, Stefen raised his eyebrows.

She shrugged. "The truth never hurts anyone but fools, Stef."

He smiled. "Ah, Jisa, you are so like him sometimes, you know that?"

She gave him a sweet, sad smile in return. "I know."

They held each other, then, as the late summer sun set gold and red behind them.


End file.
